


The Hunt

by Ischa, niania



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Audio Format: M4B, Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming, Community: pod-together, Dreamsharing, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Podfic, Podfic Length: 20-30 Minutes, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-21 18:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/niania/pseuds/niania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Maybe he could outrun it. He was fast.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Maybe Peter and the other were on a collision course.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> **AN:** A big thank you goes to omletlove who beta read this thing.  
>  I would like to thank the moods, as I've been really faily this year. And of course niania, who did a great job with this. Oh god, it seems I always drag her into unknown/new fandoms.

 

**Title:** The Hunt  
 **Author and Coverartist:** [](http://creepylicious.livejournal.com/profile)[**creepylicious**](http://creepylicious.livejournal.com/)  
 **Reader:** [](http://l-niania.livejournal.com/profile)**l_niania**  
 **Pairing:** Roman/Peter  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Warnings:** mentionings of death  
 **Summary:** _Maybe he could outrun it. He was fast._  
Maybe Peter and the other were on a collision course.  
 **File Length, Size, & Type:** 22:54 min, 21 (mp3) and 12 MB (m4b)  
 **Download Link:** [MP3](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2013/The%20Hunt-l_niania,%20ischa.mp3) and [M4B](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2013/The%20Hunt-l_niania,%20ischa.m4b)  
 **Streaming:**

 

 _”What do you need?”_  
 _“Peter.”_  
-          Hemlock Grove S1E13  
   
 **~One~**  
He had nothing left, he realized. He had nothing left except for his father’s money and his mother’s legacy: her curse.  
Because it was a curse.  
He had lost Letha, the baby, his sister.  
Roman was utterly alone.  
He sat down in one of the big expensive leather armchairs and closed his eyes briefly. What would he do now that the curse was in full bloom? Now after everything he had done, all his desires made sense in a wonderful and horrific way. It came to him with stark clarity then: nothing had changed, except that he had now the freedom to do what he wanted.  
The core-desire (not the craving, never that) was still the same.  
What he needed, Roman knew, was Peter.  
   
~+~  
The hair was slowly growing back. He let it. He paid his respects for what he had lost and now it was time to move on.  
Lynda was watching him over the rim of the chipped mug, her elbows rested on the semi-dirty diner table. Middle of nowhere – where a Rumancek felt at home.  
He didn’t know what to tell her.

“Peter,” she said gently, setting the mug on the table.  
He nodded. The only thing he wanted to do was move. Move forward, move away from Hemlock Grove. Just move. And run.  
He was feeling restless and in his dreams he was running too. Away, he realized upon waking up. He was running away because something was after him.

“It’s nothing,” Peter said.

“It’s never nothing with you, darling,” she replied, but she didn’t pry.

Maybe he could outrun it. He was fast.  
Maybe Peter and the other were on a collision course.

 

 **~Two~**  
Roman had nothing to start his search with except the trashed trailer. But most of the things in there didn’t even belong to Peter or his mother. They left everything behind and moved on.  
Maybe he could bribe or charm someone into running the license plate for him at the police station. When he looked into the mirror long enough he could make himself remember it clearly.  
People like Peter needed to move. They were like fairies, hard to pin down and when put in a cage they would go feral or die. Still, Roman thought, still.  
It was no wonder Peter had left everything behind, it just stung (hurt like a bitch, really) that one of the things he left behind had been Roman.  
He had thought that they were…better than this. More. Connected in a way that went beyond anything else he ever felt for another human being, even Letha and he had loved her.  
What he felt for Peter was something else. Awe, yes, and respect and…something deeper than love. Something he could not put in words, but it was there, clawing at his insides like Peter’s wolf, gnawing through his ribcage, wanting out, out, out.  
There really wasn’t anything else to do, Roman thought.  
He had to hunt that Gypsy son of a bitch down. Or he would never be able to sleep again.  
Would never find a second of rest, of peace.  
   
~+~  
Peter tapped his fingers restlessly against the ground. He was naked and shivering and he could smell snow on the air. That place behind his balls was doing funny things again.  
He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming. Something was coming especially for him. The wolf could feel it too. Was shifting underneath Peter’s skin violently.  
Peter wasn’t sure he was feeling fear or anticipation. Maybe it was a mix of both. Never a good combination when you were a feral beast.  
Lynda was watching him like a hawk or a loving mother. But really, where was the difference? He wanted to tell her he was fine, would be fine again, but she would call him out on his bullshit. They were moving because it was in their restless nature, but they were running too, because Peter was running.  
Whatever it was it would have to wait, because the wolf was breaking Peter’s fragile human shell.  
He gritted his teeth to keep the noises in and let the all too familiar agony that nearly turned into ecstasy overtake his body until there was nothing left of him and all he was, was the wolf.  
 

 **~Three~**  
Roman could feel it in his veins like the best drug. The perfect bliss of blood on his tongue, the sticky quality of it caking on his lips.  
There was nothing that could measure up to that, nothing…except. He punched a wall and took a deep breath.  
The only thing better were the dreams. The freedom and joy he felt running, _hunting_ knowing his prize would fight him every step of the way, it made his heart beat faster and his skin itch.  
When he woke up he felt thrilled and disgusted with himself in equal measures. It didn’t help that the flashes of tender, fleeting moments and soft skin made his cock rock-hard like only the colour, texture and smell of blood used to.  
He wondered idly what he would do when he finally caught up with Peter. Would he try to make him come back? Would it even work?  
Would the wolf try to tear him to pieces for what he was?  
   
~+~  
Peter watched the landscape outside. Trees and bushes with the occasional house or barn in the distance. The great country was indeed big. They could drive for days, weeks, months over rural roads and not meet a single soul. It suited the wolf. It sometimes even suited Peter.  
The monotony of it all and the soft hum of the car underneath lulled him into sleep. He was still exhausted from the change.  
 _He was the wolf and the wolf was him. It has always been that way: That was the secret._  
 _He was running, crashing through the underbrush. His heart racing like a rabbit’s in his chest. Something was there in the darkness of the night, in the shadows. Waiting, hunting._  
 _Peter wasn’t sure if it was a game, the wolf howled in warning – or something close to warning and then Peter heard the laughter like bells, chilling him to the bones._  
 _It wasn’t cruel as much as it was feral and delighted._  
 _Something crashed into his side._  
 _Naked, human skin._  
 _“Peter…”_

“Peter,” Lynda said, shaking him gently and he woke with a start and a thing between a growl and a yelp caught in his throat. “You were dreaming.”

“Yes,” he said. He had been dreaming and he was hard. Soft human skin against the wolf’s fur. Never a good, never a safe combination. That way lay madness and death. He let his legs fall open to take off the pressure and breathed, not looking at Lynda.

“There will be a rest-stop soon,” his mother said matter of fact.

“We don’t need to stop,” Peter answered, because he wouldn’t get off to whatever the hell was tackling him in his dream.  
Lynda nodded.  
 

 **~Four~**  
“Obsession, blood lust and casual cruelty were traits all upir had in common,” Roman muttered under his breath. He read it in one of the overdue books his mother would never return to the library now.  
The description sure as hell fitted Olivia to a T.  
The less kind parts of Roman’s mind liked to point out that even if he felt love and compassion for his sister (and other members of his extended family) he still followed every one of his selfish whims. He had raped : in body and mind. He had killed. He threw out insults that cut so deep the wounds stayed infested for years.  
And did his love absolve him?  
Did Olivia’s love absolve her in his eyes?  
No.  
There was no salvation to be found.  
At least not amongst humans. And his mother never looked anywhere else, except to her own kind. Look what that got her.  
A merciless death by the only person she ever loved. Of that Roman had no doubt. But her love, like maybe all upir’s was twisted, dark and cruel.  
It cut, drew blood, and ultimately killed. .  
Crushed that beloved being between the chambers of the heart.  
Roman ran a finger over the long pale scar on his underarm. Silvery already, following his vein and thought: but Peter was different and knew it to be true. But Roman also couldn’t hide from the fact that he was obsessing about Peter. Had probably been since the first time he laid eyes on the Gypsy son of a bitch.

~+~  
That place behind his balls that had told him, urged him to move, to run, was suspiciously quiet.  
But then, he hadn’t slept peacefully in days.  
The dream was the same: _he was running, could feel the earth under his paws, could smell winter on the air. He could hear laughter in the distance and then the human crashed into him. Buried their hands deep in his fur and pressed their face to Peter’s flank._  
 _The wolf, Peter, could smell the excitement on the human, the need, the arousal and it made his heart beat faster, made him want to grab the human by their neck and shake them._  
 _“Peter, Peter, Peter,” the human chanted against his fur and then Peter smelled the blood._  
It was close now and it was fast, mercilessly pursuing its prey, which just happened to be a werewolf on the run.  
 

 **~Five~**  
Roman parked the car a good ten miles away and walked the rest of the way to the dingy pawnshop that belonged to a Rumancek.  
They were no werewolves, and they told him everything they knew and then forgot he had been even there.  
He walked calmly back to his car, got inside and started the engine.  
He broke a few more laws, but what were a few more anyway? He could end this tomorrow night. If he was lucky and his Gypsy boy hadn’t run again.  
It didn’t matter one way or the other. Roman was closing in.  
The dreams were more vivid now. Not only human skin and flesh under his fingertips, but blood on his tongue and fur against his cheek.  
Roman had no illusions left anymore.  
He was in obsessive, compulsive, repulsive love and there was nothing to be done about it: except to turn away, drive back home to Hemlock Grove and be miserable like his mother had been miserable for years.  
Somehow that didn’t seem like a valuable option.  
   
~+~  
Peter was pacing the small ground near the cabin. The woods were good for running. There was not a single living soul, except his mother, in over hundreds of miles. The woods were dense and looked foreboding, but that could be all on Peter tonight. The place behind his balls was making itself noticeable again.

“Peter,” Lynda said and his gaze snapped to her.

“What?”

“You were staring into the distance.”

“I was staring into the darkness,” Peter said and knew somehow that it meant more. It wasn’t just normal darkness, it was the heart of it. That feeling at the bottom of your soul that you tend to ignore for your own sanity was clawing its way upwards and blocking his throat.

“What did you see there?” Lynda asked gently.

“Longing and despair,” Peter whispered.

“What colour are they?”

“They’re both blood red,” Peter said.

“Like passion then, like love,” Lynda replied.

Peter nodded. Like the inside of Letha’s pussy, he thought, like her torn to shreds womb. “He’s coming for me,” Peter whispered.

“Who?” She asked.

“Roman.” And the name was only a sigh of breath that the wind tore away. Maybe she hadn’t even heard it.  
 

 **~Six~**  
Lynda was inside sleeping when Roman finally arrived at the cabin, deep in the woods. Roman cocked his head and listened to the wind. It was nearly dawn, but the darkness was still encompassing. He could see just fine.  
He made his way to the edge of the forest and debated with himself if he should brave it or if he should just stay here and wait.  
Peter would have to come back. His mother was in the cabin, waiting, his clothes were here – not that things meant anything to Peter’s people. They could leave everything behind except the clothes they were wearing – in Peter’s case when the moon was right he didn’t even need clothes to make it god only knew how far before you realized he was gone.  
This realization sat still bitter with Roman.  
He sat on the hard soil. There was winter in the air already in this part of the country. He waited, staring into the darkness that was pulsing like a heartbeat.  
   
~+~  
The wolf could smell him from the direction he had come. He stopped and cocked his head. It was nearly dawn now and his body felt like lead.  
Soon he would be only Peter again. He could feel the wolf retreating already, but still there was the impulse to run while he still could make it far away from here on his four legs.  
Peter shook his head as the transformation began. Roman had found him here. He had been in pursuit probably from the second he realized Peter had run and left nothing but his hair – not for Roman, but because he mourned Letha. She had been a warrior in her own right and that was how warriors had been mourned in the old times. It had seemed fitting.  
He stood up and shook off the last remains of the wolf. The chilly air was biting into his skin like claws made of ice. At least it wasn’t that far anymore to the cabin.  
It was time to face the music and Peter still wasn’t sure if he had run from or toward Roman.  
It was common sense not to get attached, so maybe he had been running to protect – whatever the hell needed protecting from Roman.    
He ignored the foreboding feeling in his balls and concentrated on the small sticks and stones that he could feel with every step digging into his soles.  
   
 **~Seven~**  
“I dreamed about you,” Roman said as soon as Peter stepped out of the darkness of the forest. He was more beautiful than Roman remembered, or maybe it was true what they said: absence made the heart grow fonder.  
Peter was to Roman’s eyes an epiphany. He was Venus in his nakedness. He was Diana in his rawness.

“You sound like a lovesick girl,” Peter replied, stopping just a few feet away in front of him. Roman had to look up, crane his neck in fact, to be able to see Peter’s face.

He smiled, showing his teeth. “Want to know what I dreamed about you?”

“I bet it was something gross,” Peter said.

Roman’s smile grew wider. He played with the dry dead leaves on the ground. Peter was suppressing shivers. Most likely from the cold.  
“We were running, hunting, but for the life of me I couldn’t say who was hunter and who was prey,” Roman said. “I could feel you in the forest, I knew I wasn’t alone,” he grabbed Peter’s ankle and squeezed, but Peter didn’t make a sound.

“You know what they say? The werewolf is a lonely hunter,” Peter replied.

“So is the heart, Peter,” Roman said and yanked. “Especially the dark, cruel, obsessive heart of an upir,” he continued. Peter landed on his ass, his legs spread wide. Roman let his thumb caress the skin of his ankle. “You knew the whole time. I wonder what did your cousin see when she read my palm? What did she tell you?”

“She warned me about you.”

“Boys like me are trouble, trouble, Peter,” Roman said. “But you knew that from the first time you laid eyes on me.”  
   
~+~  
Peter nodded. Of course he had known.

“You ran,” Roman continued. “You left me there alone with my grief-“

“Our grief,” Peter interrupted.

“No, not our. I was alone with my mother, Peter. You left me alone with her and this is what she made me do,” he held up the hand that wasn’t stroking Peter’s ankle. Peter could see a faint scar starting at the base of his wrist, most of it was still hidden under Roman’s sleeve, but Peter had no doubt about what it was. Roman had cut his veins open in a desperate attempt to end it all. And only succeeded to prolong his life and suffering. “I needed you,” he said and then softer, “I still need you.”

Destiny had warned him to never forget who they were even if the upir did. Especially when the upir did. But maybe the warning went deeper, he realized now. Maybe she warned him not only to not forget, not to trust, but not to love either.  
“I’m not that kind of person,” Peter said eventually.

Roman’s hand crept slowly up, over his calf, his knee and still up and Peter buried his hands deep in the cold earth and grated his teeth. “You could be,” Roman said and Peter laughed.

“You can’t make me do anything,” he replied.

“Not with mind control, no…” Roman said gently, his fingertips were nearly brushing Peter’s cock now. He bit his lip to keep a desperate moan inside. “I dreamed about you and I woke up aching. I dreamed about you and fantasized about you, Peter. And you were fucking me hard, tearing me to shreds-“

“I knew it was gross,” Peter cut in.

Roman smiled, leaning in closer. “And I _loved_ it.”

“I’m not that kind of person,” Peter said again. He grabbed Roman’s free hand then and brought it to his lips, brushed his mouth against the scar on Roman’s wrist. “That is the person I am.”  
Between the two of them, no matter that Peter was the werewolf, Roman was the feral, savage, uncontrollable beast.

Roman moaned at the tender touch. His fingers digging into Peter’s thigh. “I need you,” Roman said again and for the first time Peter got it. It wasn’t about the hunt, or about love, or possession. It wasn’t even about grief or how they both had lost Letha. It was about something far more basic; maybe, it was about Roman’s fear to become like his mother without Peter to keep him sane.  
The thing was, Peter just wasn’t that kind of person.  
But he gave in into Roman’s desperate kiss anyway. Just for now he could pretend to be that person. Could let Roman need him as desperately as he wanted.


End file.
